


An Option of Last Resort

by Omorka



Category: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Apocalypse, Gen, Survival, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being cooped up in the Firehouse during the Zombie Apocalypse isn't much fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Option of Last Resort

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Three Options (no choices)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/332079) by [nightwalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/pseuds/nightwalker). 



> This is something like a missing-scene response to [nightwalker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/pseuds/nightwalker)'s excellent Peter & Winston apocalyptic team horror survival story, [Three Options (no choices)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/332079/). Basically, I read it and then had to explain what the rest of the team was doing (in my head, anyway). Hope you don't mind me playing in your playground!

"D'ya think Slimer's got it?" Janine asked, her teeth worrying the ragged remnant of her last nail.

"Sure," Ray assured her. "Look!" He pointed out the bunkroom window at the street below, where one member of the horde staggered southward, occasionally clawing at its companions if they failed to follow. Green ectoplasm dripped down grey flesh, glittering slightly in the late afternoon light.

Janine sank onto one of the empty bunks, her face a mask of exhaustion. "He really has saved our asses, hasn't he?"

"Oh, yeah," Ray agreed. Initially, the little green ghost's alien psychology had really struck them hard; Slimer had been far, far more concerned about Peter and Winston's failure to come back from the Columbia seminar than he had been about the shambling mounds of rage in the streets. Similarly, he’d failed entirely to grasp the idea of rationing the contents of the cabinet. On the other hand, the Class Five, who had previously demonstrated neither aptitude nor inclination for possession, had, when the attackers had threatened to overwhelm both the firehouse’s automated defenses and their three proton streams, demonstrated the ability to manipulate the things like puppets from the inside. Now, whenever they appeared, he took over whichever one seemed to be in charge and steered it away; usually the rest followed, and if a few lagged behind, they still had enough of a charge on the one pack to pick them off.

On the second day, Slimer had insisted on going out looking for Peter and Winston, and had gotten lost. Both Ray and the ghost were dismayed when Slimer had completely failed to pick up Peter’s scent, but Janine had reminded them that the streets were full of distracting smells - the horde themselves, the smoke, the mounds of uncollected trash.

Ray sat next to Janine and draped one arm across her shoulders. Really, that first day, she had kept them together with a will of iron; when he and Egon had been nearly out of their minds with worry - no, Ray admitted, terror - for Peter and Winston, she had been the one who had stopped them from doing something irrational, or suicidal, to find them. Only last night had her facade started to crack, and when she finally melted down into tears, Egon had assumed that she was panicking about their being trapped. Ray had had to remind him that, unlike their families, hers had been almost entirely in the boroughs.

Ray had wondered whether it would help or hurt if he told them to go ahead and make love to comfort each other, that he didn’t mind at all and would be happy to give them some privacy. In the end, he hadn’t said anything, and they’d all slept huddled together in Peter’s four-poster, clothes still on.

Egon appeared at the door and knocked gently, so as not to startle them. “The samples we collected have all started to putrefy,” he announced in a lecturer’s voice. “I do not think we can extract any further useful data from them, and I’m still several days from a full chemical analysis based on what we already have.”

Ray turned to look at him. “I told you I had a solution for that,” he reminded Egon, “but you said no.”

Janine shuddered under his arm. “Actually, I believe we said ‘Hell, no.’”

Egon frowned, adding, “Even assuming that Janine and I could restrain you, even with Slimer’s assistance, I do not think going out and allowing yourself to be bitten is an appropriate way to increase our rate of data collection, Ray.”

Ray shrugged. “I’m just saying, it would have worked if you hadn’t stopped me.” There, that was a smile - followed by a flinch, at the memory of Peter. Oh, well, it had been worth a try.

“I’ve also catalogued the pantry,” Egon continued, glancing down at a pad of paper. “We have enough staples to last five people for six days, or - or, three people for ten days.” He swallowed, his adam’s-apple bobbing like a float on a fishing line.

“Five,” Ray insisted. “It’ll be five.”

At that moment, a blob of green ectoplasm sailed through the ceiling and formed itself back into Slimer. “Pee-yew,” the green ghost complained, holding his nose.

“Thanks,” Janine said, fishing in her pockets for one of her last peppermints. “You’re doing great, Slimer.” The ghost accepted the mint and dropped it in his mouth, but much more slowly than normal - maybe the idea of scarcity was finally sinking in. Janine turned towards Egon and asked, “What about power?”

“The generator we have running the lights and the recharge ports for the packs and traps has enough fuel to last another 18 hours,” Egon reported. “The generator system in the basement will continue to power the containment unit for another 37 hours; if we connect the power cells from the remaining packs in series to the system, we can obtain another 45 hours, at the cost of permanently burning out the pack cells.” He paused, then finished, “There has been no change to the external power or phone grids.”

Ray blinked as the phantom of an idea crossed his mind. “Egon, did the ambient PKE field pick up when the Event happened?”

“No.” Egon blinked. “Why?”

Ray’s mouth formed a hard line as he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the stairwell. “I think maybe we need a horde of our own.”

\---

Ray came off the basement stairs at a run, skidding to a halt in front of the window into the containment unit. Currently, it held the snoring form of the Bogeyman; its tongue lolled out of its mouth alarmingly.

“Oh, wow,” Ray breathed, “I bet that much fear, the whole island all at once, got through the containment field.”

One huge yellow eye opened and rolled around twice before focusing on Ray. “Indeed,” the Bogeyman answered; it sounded drunk, or perhaps hung over.

Egon folded his arms across his chest and snorted derisively. “From feast to famine, then.”

“That, too.” A huge blue tear welled in the corner of the open eye and dripped into the Bogeyman’s jacket collar. “Alas.”

Ray nodded, adding, “And those - things - on the streets, now, they don’t feed you, do they?”

“No,” the Bogeyman admitted, opening the other eye and shifting to a sitting position. “They ooze hunger, and anger, but there is no fear in them.”

“Kind of like you,” Janine sneered.

Ray pressed his face against the glass. “Listen to me, Bogey. If we don’t stop those things, there’ll be no more closets, no more kids to scare, no more fear for you - ever.” He paused to breathe as the impact of his words settled on the Class Seven corporeal manifestation. “I need to talk to Samhain,” he continued, his breath steaming the glass. “Go get him for me.” It was a command, not a request, but the Bogeyman blinked twice and disappeared into the faux-Netherword of the containment unit’s interior.

Egon checked two of the gauges beside the unit. “We won’t be able to do a controlled blow-off on emergency power,” he stated.

“No,” Ray agreed, wincing a bit. “But if we do it with the interlocks open, it shouldn’t cause as much damage as the first time.”

“Are you sure?” Janine asked, but the window was suddenly filled with the exaggerated jack-o-lantern head of the lord of Halloween.

“Well?” Samhain demanded. “What business have I with you?”

Ray leaned against the glass again. “So, originally you were a spirit of harvest and the dark half of the year, right?”

Samhain’s triangular eyes went from equilateral to isosceles. “Ye-es,” he said hesitantly.

“And your festival was in part a celebration of death,” Ray continued, the words coming fast before the spirit could interrupt. “Not because you killed people, but in an understanding of how spirits continued after death, as ghosts and ancestors. That’s why almost all spirits that originate here on Earth, instead of the Netherworld, see you as their natural leader. Right?”

“That is mostly correct,” Samhain admitted. “But what -”

“Can you feel what’s going on outside?” Ray asked.

“Why should I care?” Samhain said, drawing the words out. “I am trapped in here, am I not? The world outside can do as it wills, and it affects me little.” 

“You cared once,” Ray said, almost prayerfully. “The turning of the seasons from light to dark _is_ you, no matter where you are.”

“This . . . is still true.” The pumpkinhead closed its eyes, turning from side to side slightly, as if he were listening to something. His hands fluttered lightly at his sides as he pressed his awareness through the weakening containment field.

When the triangular eyes opened again, they flashed flame-orange. “This is blasphemy!” Samhain spat. “You trap souls within mouldering bodies, unaware! The dead are dead, yet your poisons will not let them die! What madness is this?”

Egon spoke softly. “So, this is something with its origins in human action, and not supernatural?”

“This is a man-thing, yesss . . .” Samhain trailed off. “You did not know.”

“No.” Egon balled one hand into a fist. “And it makes my research somewhat easier, now that half the possibilities are eliminated. But it also means we have an enemy.”

Samhain smiled for the first time since being summoned. “A greater enemy than me. One you cannot subdue by shoving him in a trap, or in here.”

“Exactly,” Ray broke in. “Look, can you fix it?”

“Fix what?” The ghost looked honestly confused.

“The souls trapped in dead bodies thing,” Ray explained. “I mean, you and Death are like that, right?” he asked, crossing his fingers. “I figured if anyone could fix it, you could.”

Samhain paused a long time, eyes flickering. “Not from here,” he finally said. “Out there? I . . . believe so.”

“Great!” Ray exclaimed. “So, this is the deal. We bust you out of there, you and all the other spirits, in exchange for four things.” He started ticking them off on his fingers. “One, you don’t try the whole eternal midnight thing again; you take your season in turn, along with the others, like it was supposed to be in the beginning.” He grinned. “Or we go looking for Beltane to come have a talk with you.”

Janine perked up. “Wait, there’s a Beltane spirit? I want to meet him.”

“Her,” Samhain corrected. “Very well, that is a credible threat and I agree. Next?”

“Two,” Ray continued, “you take care of the undead problem, at least until Egon and I can sort out an antidote, either by sending out minions to possess the horde and keep them under control or by getting their souls loose from their bodies. I don’t think we actually care which.”

“On this,” Samhain growled, “we are in perfect agreement. And?”

“Third,” Ray answered, “the Bogeyman and the Grundel stay here.” He paused, weighing his next words. “They’re too predatory to let out into the world again.”

“And the Phantom is not?” Samhain retorted. “Here is my counter-offer: the Bogeyman and the Grundel will be my lieutenants. They will report directly to me. When they are not under my orders, they will never be out of my sight. And if they become a nuisance to you, I will punish them appropriately.” He stopped, watching Ray’s expression closely. “And if all three of you find my punishments . . . inadequate, I will turn them back over to you.”

Ray glanced back at Egon and Janine. Janine nodded back; Egon took longer, but eventually gave one nod in agreement. “That’s a tough bargain,” Ray admitted, “but we’re in a tight space. Deal.”

Samhain smiled broadly as his eyes glimmered back to gold. “And number four?”

Ray cleared his throat and went on, “Fourth, if you find Peter and Winston - whether they’ve been turned or not - you bring them back to us.”

“Simple enough,” Samhain agreed. “Your amended terms are acceptable. When shall I begin?”

Ray turned back to his companions; they all shrugged, the decision heavy on their shoulders. “Well, now, I guess,” Ray hazarded.

“Excellent! I shall prepare my spirits for the work ahead.” Samhain disappeared; the Bogeyman replaced him at the window again, giggling with glee.

“Nothing for it now,” Ray said quietly.

Janine nodded. “I hope we’re doing the right thing,” she added.

“We’re not,” Egon answered, “but there is no right thing. I calculate a 96% probability that what we are doing is at least less bad than continuing to wait until our power runs down.”

“Then let’s do it.” Ray typed in the emergency code, dialed open the trap interlock, and threw the big double knife-switch. The klaxon wailed with the intermittent buzz of an immediate containment breach as Egon, Janine, and Ray raced for the stairs.


End file.
